


feel it for a minute (like the real thing, baby)

by DoctorSyntax



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Episode: s02e10 Remember Me, F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane's birthday never turns out the way she expects. One very memorable year includes a My Pretty Pony piñata and exhausted, celebratory, are-you-okay incest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel it for a minute (like the real thing, baby)

Jane drops onto her couch beside him with a sigh, her body a warm weight as she half-slouches against his side.

"Long day?" he prompts, because he knows that sigh, probably better than anyone else in the world. Jane's closed-off individual, but when she needs it her defenses always come down around her family and around Frankie in particular. He'd be a goddamn liar if he said that wasn't a point of pride for him, but mostly it's a responsibility he's never quite sure how to handle. Jane takes care of him and herself; when she needs him to carry them both, it's scary.

"And getting longer," is her half-cryptic answer, the only thing she says before she falls silent. Frankie shifts to drop an arm around her shoulder and a kiss to the top of her head, and he knows, as soon as she doesn't protest, exactly how bad her day was. 

And how long their night is about to get.

He waits it out patiently, without pushing for her to talk. Just sits there on the couch, debris of the party still all around them, left behind after all the guests had gone. Earlier in the night Frankie'd _accidentally_ let it slip that he'd been the one to suggest they move her surprise birthday party from the Dirty Robber to her apartment; she'd just narrowed her eyes and hadn't bothered to hide a smile as she threatened him with after-party cleaning duties. He'd shrugged, knowing full well that they wouldn't get much cleaning done, that she was angling for this instead. It's been a long time since either of them needed this but he knows what's coming just as surely as he knows his own name. So, yeah, he can wait it out. He's got all night.

After what seems like forever, Jane finally tips her head up to make eye contact. "Frankie…" she begins, trailing off. She doesn't say please, not out loud, but it's there in the way her eyes search his, the unspoken request. She doesn't need to say please; Frankie has never been able to deny her anything. Not when she's like this. 

He'd learned that the hard way when the scars on her hands were fresh wounds, when she was so broken and Frankie was so lost—when she needed him and he didn't know how to be there for her. In the end she'd taken the lead and he'd followed, so desperate to fix her that the reality of what they were doing hadn't sunk in until the next morning, and by then the damage had been done. They could deny that it had happened, but they couldn't deny that it had helped.

It's not as bad as it had been that first night—she's not as bad—but she kisses like it anyway, launching herself at him like if she does it fast enough they can pretend it isn't really happening, forces his mouth open and pliant beneath hers. On her lips he tastes beer with an after-hint of aluminum—the good doctor hadn't been kidding—and absently he wonders if she notices the same flavor on his. In a split-second Jane's shifted to straddle his lap, grinding her hips down once as she deepens the kiss to something even more punishing than before. A quick bite to his upper lip and that's it, he's done holding himself back from this. His hands come up to tangle in her hair, a little bit rougher than strictly necessary, and she makes a noise, half-broken, that never leaves the seal of their lips. A second bite, this one to his lower lip, and she's pulling her face away.

"Bedroom," she murmurs with a nudge of her nose and an all-too-brief kiss, somehow making even that sound like an order. The intensity of her constantly-rough voice is underlined by the gaze she fixes him with, burning embers underneath brown irises and heavy lids. "Now."

It's in a younger brother's nature to rebel against his sister's orders, but all the same it's instinct to follow them, and anyway this isn't about him, no matter how okay he is with it happening—how much he wants it, if he's being honest with himself, which he isn't—rebel or obey, Frankie doesn't even have to think once, let alone twice. It's as natural as breathing, the habit of a lifetime, to sling an arm under Jane's, lift them both off the couch and begin the shuffle toward Jane's room.

Passing under the doorframe is the same as stepping over the point of no return; before, either of them could have stopped this with a word but the second they fully stumble into her bedroom there's no going back from it, from any of it. Besides, they both need this today: Jane because Hoyt cracked her wide open and undid half the stitches holding her together, Frankie because he has something worth celebrating but no-one to celebrate with; and if their conflicting emotions don't prevent them from feeling like they're exactly on the same page, well, that's what family ties will do for you.

In her room, next to the bed that Frankie helped her put together, they undress each other like lovers, pausing in between articles of clothing to steal kisses, and if Frankie allowed himself a half-second to think it would ache bittersweet because it's so much like the real thing. The last of their clothing falls away and Frankie should feel embarrassed, but he doesn't know how to be self-conscious when it's with Jane. Not when they're like this. She's his sister and she'll love him no matter what.

Jane shoves him down on her bed (which he was expecting) hard (which he was not), and he scrambles backward, still too far to one edge. When she crawls over him her slow grin is a system-shock that leaves him staring up half in a daze, half in surprise, and just a little winded from the fall. Something about Jane intoxicates him, makes him forever feel a bumbling idiot. If he analyzed it long enough he'd probably come to a conclusion about sibling hero-worship but it's not something he likes to think too closely about. And her half-laugh only goes so far to snapping him back to the present. "Don't look so surprised." She cocks her head to the side and grins in realization. "Did you ever imagine for a second I _wouldn't_ be on top, little brother?"

"Well if we're being honest here I never imagined we'd ever be in this position, so... no." It's a lie and they both know it, but Jane doesn't pursue the point, drops it in favor of locking her knees and rolling. It's a practiced move, fluid and precise, but Frankie attended the same police academy that Jane did; knows the maneuver like the back of his hand and it isn't difficult at all to break her hold open, bracket her hips and turn her own move back on her.

His triumphant grin soon turns to a grimace as she yanks one arm out from under him and flips them so fast it knocks the breath out of him. As he blinks his eyes open he catches the sight of Jane's, blown wide with lust but edged with something entirely more dangerous, something primal that verges on survival instinct. She's at war with someone but it isn't Frankie, and all the fight goes right out of him, an abrupt downshift from playful to compliant.

It must show somewhere—his body language, his eyes, maybe both—because he knows Jane can sense it. Though she doesn't relinquish her advantage, some of the clouds leave her eyes, leaving just the hard brown gaze he's so familiar with.

"Frankie," she murmurs, and it sounds like a realization before she seals her lips over his mouth and just as quickly tears them away. "Fuck, hold on," pressing another quick kiss to his lips before she scrambles through her nightstand for a condom, another kiss as she rips open the packet, a fourth as she rolls slick rubber over his dick, and Frankie's helpless, can't even think to move to assist her through the haze of _so hard it hurts_ from nothing more than anticipation and Jane's casually intimate kisses.

He recovers enough to skim his fingertips up the smooth skin of her thighs as she positions herself over him, labia a light point of contact against the very tip of his dick. She's not moving, wicked-playful grin on her face the only thing to let on that she's taunting him in true older-sibling fashion; then, just when he's about to give up, move his hands to grab at her hips, press his thumbs into her flexors and pull her down, she settles a little further onto him. The fat head of his cock slips inside her, just enough that he can feel her skin stretching around him. On instinct they both tense up right there, suspended in time trying to prolong the initial bliss of entrance, until Jane rocks a little bit further back, slips in another half-inch, and it's almost as good as the initial breach over again.

Jane continues in that vein, quick rocks back and forward that slowly edge Frankie's dick inside her and then pausing for a beat or two; by the time he's halfway inside her he's also half mad with desire for the rest; god, no wonder so many of his friends growing up wanted her, she's got the art of teasing down to a science. At the same time, no matter how much he just wants to yank her all the way down and fuck her boneless, he won't: this is about what she needs. But, fuck, she's testing the absolute limit of his willpower. Just when he's starting to think he can't handle it anymore she sinks the rest of the way down in one smooth motion that has his shoulders coming up off the mattress as his stomach crunches involuntarily. Dirty pool, and he shouldn't be surprised, but Jane always surprises him in bed.

After the day's events he'd expected her to be all sound and fury, focused on quick, hard release but instead of fucking him into the mattress she's riding his dick with slow, graceful rolls of her hips, head tilted back just enough for her hair to slip off her shoulders in a curtain of dark waves, just one curl resting against the pale flesh of her collarbone. Her eyes are closed and a half-smile curves her mouth, but it's not until her breath hitches out a cross between a laugh and a moan that he realizes: demons vanquished or at the very least pushed aside for the moment, she's celebrating with him.

She shifts forward, bracing on her elbows, mind-blowing smile wide on her face, and Frankie knows: not many people get to see this smile, this open, reckless enjoyment. So he takes a chance and rolls them both over, ‘til Jane's on her back, taking back the control he'd surrendered earlier, because, dammit, they were the only ones in the room and this was a birthday, a high test score, being alive. With a look, a word, or a shift of her body she could take it and turn it back into a broken grasp for feeling but she doesn't, doesn't even give the slightest indication she's thinking about Hoyt anymore. Her only response is to dig her fingernails into his back, deep crescent moons pressed in hard enough to think she might be drawing blood, until her grip slips and red-hot pain sears across his back, ripping up the top layer of skin.

The noise that comes out of his mouth sounds broken, and, fuck, whatever tattered remnants of his self-control he'd been white-knuckling get torn right out of his grasp, lost to instinct, to the snap of his hips, to the urge to bury himself deep inside her over and over.

"Frankie, come on," and her urging voice is like whiskey over gravel; sharp, needy sounds she doesn't seem to be able to control escaping on every breathless exhale caused by every bump of his dick against her cervix. She grinds up against him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, like she's trying to force him impossibly deeper. Her hipbones dig in to his, feeling like they could cut glass.

Frankie skims his fingers up Jane's sweat-slick torso, which expands and contracts with each of her ragged breaths; he knows she won't last much longer, and wonders if he will. She twists, arching her back, and the press of her firm breasts against his pecs has his balls drawing closer to his body, dragging orgasm tantalizingly within reach.

"Oh, Christ," Jane bites out, and he'd make a joke like _call me Frankie_ if he had the brain capacity, but it gets lost amid the sensation of Jane's leg muscles locking up around his waist to drag their hips together and hold, her inner muscles spasming tight and wet around his dick. Like every good kid brother everywhere, Frankie follows her lead soon after—now there's no reason for him to hang on, he can lose himself to sensation and not feel selfish afterward, and that's exactly what he does, registering and reveling in the quick rush of relief.

After he slips out he's tempted to slump forward onto her body and he does, just for a second, before she's groaning in annoyance and smacking him hard in the shoulder with the base of her palm, rolling him over. "God, you weigh a ton," she grumps even as she's pulling the condom off and knotting it. She aims for the wastebasket across the room but it hits the rim and bounces to the floor with a sad flop.

"I woulda made that," Frankie comments lazily from his boneless sprawl across Jane's bed. Jane just shoots him a dirty look.

"Well isn't that just _super_ for you," she bitches, fluffing her pillow and flopping down on her side of the bed, back to Frankie. "Tell you what, tomorrow you can pick it up, right before you clean my entire living room."

He raises his hands in surrender, even though she can't see them, then tucks them behind his head with a sigh of sweet satisfaction. "I'm just sayin'. Gotta be better at something."

"Yeah, well," and her voice is drowsy, content, half asleep already, "next time you can do it."

Next time. She's never said anything like that before—he hasn't either. But maybe it doesn't really mean anything, just some mindless smack talk. He opens his mouth to ask, but a light snore alerts him to the fact that she's already fallen asleep, and he glances over.

She's still got her back to him, so he shifts to spoon her. He knows perfectly well that if she's only feigning sleep he'll get an elbow to the ribs for trouble, but then he can ask her about this _next time_ business; if she's truly asleep, he'll get to cuddle close; either way, Frankie's the winner here, so it's a logical course of action.

"Happy birthday, sis," Frankie murmurs against her skin, pressing a kiss she doesn't feel to her shoulder. Jane makes a small noise in her sleep, awakening every protective instinct she'd always resented him expressing and Frankie nestles her body against his, as if bracketing his arm around her waist and his chin on her shoulder will be enough to keep her safe from the Hoyts of the world. Her hand feels deceptively smooth and delicate inside his and she must be out cold because she doesn't stir, doesn't even make a noise as he absently rubs his thumb back and forth over the raised lump of scar tissue.

He thinks for a long time about getting up and leaving, going home to sleep alone in his own bed and pretending this didn't happen. In the end the day's been too long, Jane's bed too comfortable, and he's too sleepy; if he had to he'd think up a million other bogus reasons to stay. He can always leave in the morning—wake up early, carefully slip out of Jane's grasp and get dressed as quietly as possible, lock the front door behind him with the key he's had since the day Jane moved in. Go about his day like his sister isn't waking up alone in the bed where they'd slept together the night before. He knows he's capable of it; he's done it before.

It isn't the first time, but like every time before he'll tell himself it's the last. (It won't be, but sometimes there are lies you need to get yourself through the day, and Frankie is only human.)


End file.
